“It’s alright,” Mikhail had moved towards her and grabbed her hands. “They can’t control you, okay? Look at me. Talk to me.”
His gaze was imploring, hoping that she wasn’t slipping away from him at this dreadful reminder of how captive she had once been.
“I’m okay,” she smiled softly and looked up at Mikhail, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “I still expect them to walk in with a firing squad — cold breakfast isn’t too bad by comparison.”
They ate in silence, both of them occasionally tossing glances at the door. They weren’t surprised to see that lunch and dinner were the same familiar cold, bland food that Anastasia had been malnourished with for years.
Mikhail was concerned that it had her in her head more than usual, but she shook her head each time and offered him a weak rebuttal. There was only so much that he could do while she denied it.
By the third day, Mikhail was desperate to find out something.Anything.
They assumed that the Tsar still held out hope that he could manipulate Anastasia to his side. It was either that, or he was determined that their downfall would be public and used as propaganda. Both reasons made a good cause for him not to attack them privately in her suites.
Still… there had to be rumors of what he might be planning.
They knew that Nikolai Ruzsky, the man they wanted Anastasia to marry, was speaking out actively against the Tsar. If they could make contact with him, somehow, maybe they could strategize a way to get this brutal regime to end.
At least if it involved force, Anastasia could make an appearance at Ruzsky’s side. Mikhail knew that she didn’t want to be used as a weapon, but he hoped that her presence and the threat of her gifts would be enough.
“I’m going out for a few hours,” Mikhail told Anastasia about his plan to seek out Ruzsky. “Surely, some of the servants know something. I still know my way around the palace. I’ll be back before noon.”
“Please don’t go,” Anastasia looked up at him with genuine fear in her eyes. “I’m frightened here, Mikhail. Please. I don’t like the idea of us being apart.”
“It will be okay,” he assured her, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back in just a few hours. We must start planning a move, or we’re going to be stuck in a stalemate with your father onhisturf.”
Anastasia nodded, “Hurry back to me… please.”
“I will, Anya. Always.”
He hurried out the doors to Anastasia’s suites, both already counting the minutes until they could be back at one another’s side.
After an hour, Anastasia was desperate. Anxiety crept up her spine like a cold, shameful feeling that she couldn’t seem to distract herself from.
Now that they had put aside their pasts, the idea that they were apart in such hostile territory was enough to make her pick at the scars on her knuckles.
She found herself working towards a fever pitch, her thoughts spiraling out of control when a harsh knock cut through the silence of the rooms.
Anastasia almost vomited on queue at the sound, knowing that Mikhail wouldn’t knock to enter. There wasn’t even a moment to bid them entry before the door swung open.
The Tsar stepped into Anastasia’s room. He shut the door behind him and stared at her, a softer expression on his face than the last time she had seen him.
It had been three days, but his nose was still purple and silently bent, something she knew was probably driving a prideful man like him mad.
“Anastasia,” he nodded, his voice solemn. “May I sit?”
She nodded in response, her entire body tense. She eyed him from across the room. Both were eyeing each other like predators sizing up their opponent.
Anastasia wasn’t naive enough to believe that he was here to apologize. He had come alone and had likely waited until he knew that she was alone, too.
She took a deep breath attempting to slow her heart rate without Mikhail at her side, feeling intimidated by the man who had abused her for years.
The Tsar said nothing, both of them waiting for the other to speak to break the tension. Neither did. Anastasia kept her mouth in a tight line, hoping to hide her fear.
The Tsar leaned back in the chair, one hand stroking his beard. Anastasia raised an eyebrow in a challenge, and he sighed.
“You’ll never know what it’s like to be the Tsar,” his voice was almost contrite as he leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “It is the greatest pressure that a man can know.”
“I would imagine that struggling to feed his own family outweighs it.” Her voice was quick, cutting, as she thought of the fathers she had met who couldn’t feed their own children. It was a burden that she wouldn’t wish upon anyone and one that the Tsar had never come close to knowing.
